


Coffee Troubles

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, M/M, definitely not to be taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony tries to do a nice thing and bring Bruce a drink. It doesn't go so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tony was carrying too many things. His hands were loaded with schematics and tools and mugs of coffee all at once. That was the reason why this happened. 

“Bruce, buddy, we can put that shirt in the wash. In several washes, and then several driers. And after all the washing and drying, we can give your hobo chic shirt to ten different dry cleaners. I swear, it’ll be good as new.” Tony had been pleading for a few minutes, now. 

Why was he pleading? Because Bruce had gone strangely quiet, after half a cup of java ended up on his shirt front. The scientist had looked down at his torso, but he stopped there. Didn’t make any other moves. His arms were frozen halfway to Tony. Since Bruce decided to play freeze tag, though, Tony relocated, which meant Bruce was now reaching out to… nothing. Kind of. 

Obviously, if anyone else was watching this tableau, they’d be equally as worried. 

“Was this your favorite shirt?” Tony asked. “Because if it was, I can personally oversee at least two washings.” 

He was trying for humor, but Bruce was still scarily quiet. 

Tony didn’t know what to do, beside talking the other’s ear off. So he did that, and then when it seemed like Bruce really might be turned to stone, Tony wandered off in search of a towel. There was still a good amount of coffee at Bruce’s feet. 

Halfway to a supply cabinet in the corner of the lab, Tony thought he heard a noise. Bruce. It had to be Bruce. 

Delighted and convinced that partial speech was a positive sign, Tony grabbed a hand towel and headed back to Dr. Banner quickly. He was smiling, about to wish Bruce congratulations on not going green, but then he looked at the other man’s face. It was… no. It couldn’t be, Tony thought. Not… tear-streaked? 

“Bruce….” he started, but had no idea where to go from there. 

Bruce Banner was crying, and Tony Stark had only a hand towel and his wit to defend himself against it. 

“I needed coffee. Decaf coffee. That’s all I… and you….” Bruce looked almost distraught. 

“What’s happening right now?” Tony asked. 

Stark was kind of scared, but he also had it in his head that maybe this was a dream. Tony had been the victim of coffee dreams gone south, before. 

Bruce’s hands reached slowly for his shirt, and undid the small buttons that ran up and down his chest and stomach. They were wet, too, coffee-colored. Bruce pushed his top off using his shoulders. The article of clothing landed with a small smack on the lab floor. 

“Tony… could you get that?” he asked. 

For just a second, Stark’s eyes bulged.

“Yes. Yeah, I sure as hell can.” 

Carefully, Tony bent down and grabbed the shirt Bruce dropped. The shirt didn’t matter; it wasn’t Bruce’s problem. The lack of non-caffeine caffeine was his problem. Or, at least, that’s the story Bruce was going with.

“I’m gonna take this up, and I’ll get you a new cup of… yeah. Yeah?” Bruce was still crying. “Yeah. Be right back.” 

From the steel staircase that led up to Stark tower’s main communal kitchen, Tony could hear small sniffing noises, and the quiet shuffle of Bruce’s footsteps. 

Tony almost thought he heard something like, ‘I’m so stressed out. I’m so stressed out.’ 

He felt bad. The type of bad that was uncomfortable, and incurable. 

Bruce’s next cup of joe was definitely going into a thermos. 

Jesus.


	2. Chapter 2

 Bruce eventually curled up into a little ball on one of the spare cots Tony kept in his lab. He’d been pushing seventy-six hours without sleep, running on fumes and caffeine in equal measures. Biding his time until exhaustion would overtake him. Bruce… as adamant as he was about boundaries and explicit understandings, never gave himself the same leg-up. In his mind, it was better to float until the only other available option was sinking. To work himself into a not-so-figurative coma.

And tony understood. He understood, because most of the time, he lived by the same mantra. Tony’d left Bruce alone after the coffee debacle. He knew it would be better to give his little friend breathing room, let him go through whatever he was going through without prying eyes (or, in Tony’s case, one big-ass mouth) cloying at him.

Iron Man could be good like that every once in a while. But now it was late and the rest of the tower, however much of it was occupied, was asleep. Tony figured Bruce ought to follow suit. Bruce ought to follow suit _with_ Tony. In a Cali king bed. Far removed from projects and mission schemes and self-imposed deadlines.

“Big guy?” He called, half-waltzing through the lab.

Tony’s fingers trailed along the surface of a few work benches. He walked and walked until he found him. A sleeping Bruce Banner curled up on himself, no blanket or pillow in sight.

“Bruce,” Tony sighed. 

He dropped down and nudged lightly at Bruce’s shoulder, wondering distantly how much spontaneous pressure it would take to send Bruce packing. To give Big Green a little time to navigate. Not that Tony wanted that – he didn’t want that. He just… wondered. Occasionally. It was Tony’s job to wonder.

To push. To test. 

“Bru-uce,” he sing-songed. “wake up. Science finally figured out how to take the sting out of gamma radiation. Neat trick. All you gotta do is absorb it, pair it with a little bit of chemical America, and…,” he trailed off as Bruce shifted. 

His eyes opened slowly. Tony appreciated that. His fingers twitched on Bruce’s shoulder.

“You know what time it is?” He asked.

“Late.” Bruce responded.

He shifted and the bones in his spine cracked. Bruce blew out a sigh that disintegrated into something like a moan. Tony gave himself a moment of showing precious restraint before climbing onto the cot. Straddling Bruce, pressing warm hands into a warmer chest.

“That’s right, Dr. Brain. I came here to wrestle you into the nearest king-sized bed. Up to the challenge?”

Tony rocked into Bruce gently. He liked where he was. This position did favors for both of them, but it did more for Tony. The feeling of control, of completion… it couldn’t have been overstated, no matter how many euphemisms sprung to Tony’s mind.

Hands on Tony’s hips, Bruce nodded, and yawned again. “Yeah, just…,” he looked to the side of them, intent on finding something. 

His glasses, probably. Tony smirked. 

“On your face already.” He stage-whispered.

Bruce blinked, belatedly noticing the frames around his field of vision.

They made it upstairs easily, if not quickly. Tony fell into bed first and Bruce followed. They tangled themselves up around each other and breathed in time. 

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr!](http://waylonsparked.tumblr.com/)


End file.
